In Training
by heavymetal1984
Summary: Mark Calaway takes on a friend's daughter who has an intense drive in her quest to be a professional wrestler. He quickly takes to her, helping her train, but soon his feelings become more than professional for the odd young woman.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my characters. The rest are the respective properties of the WWE and themselves.

Chapter 1"Come on, little girl. One more."

Talia pressed the heavy barbell, forcing her breath out as she heaved the weight. She set the two-hundred-pound barbell down in its cradle with a, _clank!_ "I'm done, Mark." She sat up on the weight bench, the defined muscles in her chest and biceps burning with exertion.

He gave a sigh and patted her shoulder. "You're doin' good, kid, but you've lost the drive. You don't push yourself like you used to."

She hung her head between her knees. "I can't focus anymore. Life's just a blur."

"He's not comin' back, ya know."

Sighing with irritation, she stood, twisting the end clamps off the bar and lifting the big forty-five pound free weights and setting them in the rack with the rest. "I don't give a damn about him anymore. You should feel the same about her."

He stood in silence for a minute, his thumbs hooked in the two front belt loops of his jeans. "As far as I'm concerned, the two of them shoulda hooked up." He shrugged, turning away. "Come on, you got another half-an-hour on the treadmill."

Talia felt bad for bringing up his ex. She knew it cut him to the quick to even think about it. Personally, she'd love to knock the ignorant woman's teeth out. To cheat on a man like Mark Calaway could be considered nothing but pure, unadulterated, blinding ignorance.

She stepped onto the treadmill, picking up the jogging pace he'd set it at. Ten minutes later, she sped it up, determined to push herself a little harder. After the half-hour was up, she stepped off, dripping with sweat.

Mark was lounging in the upright seat of a lat machine. "Go take a shower, then we'll go grab something to eat." He tossed her a towel and a bottle of water.

Talia wiped the sweat from her face and neck, downing a big gulp of water as she climbed the basement stairs.

She took the next set of stairs two at a time, anxious to feel the scalding warmth of the shower on her tight, worked muscles.

She pulled a pair of jeans and a black WCW Monday Night Nitro t-shirt out of the tall armoire in her room and went into the bathroom.

She stayed under the spray longer than necessary, soaking in the heat, before reluctantly stepping out and drying off. After she dressed, she slipped on a pair of black biker boots, tied her hair back with a licensed Undertaker bandana, and tugged fingerless gloves over her hands.

She heard the hallway floor creak and she looked up in time to see Mark standing in the door, one hip leaning against the door jamb. "Wanna take the bike and go find a diner?"

She nodded, grabbing her leather motorcycle jacket from the closet. On second thought, she slipped the bandana from her head, anticipating the feeling of freedom she got from the wind in her hair.

Mark wheeled the low-riding Harley-Davidson Fatboy out of the garage, using the electronic start to bring the engine roaring to life.

Talia slid on behind him and they sped down the gravel drive that led to the highway. They drove around for a bit, enjoying the ride, before he stopped at a little restaurant.

He seated them in the back, though it didn't help. After all, he was a seven-foot-tall giant of a man and she wasn't exactly tiny at six-feet-three. The both of them had on enough leather to look like cult followers of Daytona Bike Week.

He ordered a steak, looking surprised when she did, too.

She shrugged. "What?"

"I expected salad or something," he said, grinning.

She dragged a hand through her hair. "Please, Mark, that's almost insulting. What do I look like?"

He appeared to be thinking on it. "A girl?"

She narrowed her eyes playfully, pointing a finger at him. "I owe you for that one."

He lifted a brow and smirked. "We'll see."

Staring out the window, Talia's hand went to the braid that lay behind her left ear. Ryan's braid.

"Why do you wear that?" Mark asked, startling her.

She looked over at him, dropping the plaited lock of hair. "It's a heritage braid," she explained. "I wear one for my fathers lineage," she lifted the braid behind her right ear, "and one for the line of my future husband." She left out the fact that she'd braided that one for Ryan.

She looked down at the table. "Theoretically, they're supposed to care enough to wear one in return, and the left one is like an engagement ring."

He nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but being interrupted by the arrival of their food.

She dug in, desperately wanting to change the subject. "How's the elbow."

One shoulder lifted nonchalantly. "Not bad. Still aches in the mornings. My knees, too." He chuckled at his own misfortune.

Grinning, Talia reflected on her own training. "When I first started, I thought I was going to die. I could barely get out of bed."

He smiled back at her, catching her off guard by how genuine it was. "What kept you going?"

"I watched wrestling twenty-four hours a day. I would wake up grumbling and complaining and then all I had to do was watch a good match and I was ready to hit the gym again."

"Maybe that's all ya need to get your drive back."

Talia bit her lip. "You don't have the nerve capacity to put up with the way I used to enjoy wrestling. Besides, I've seen all the matches on my computer a hundred times."

"I've been in this business for a long time and I'm a bigger fan that you think. My library is very extensive, sweetheart."

She nodded, then frowned. "You just called me sweetheart."

He looked at her with those intense green eyes. "It fits."


	2. Chapter 2

Talia laced up her boots, tugging down on her ring shorts.

Mark had insisted she get some proper ring attire before he ever let her near his. He'd refused the standard workout clothes and running shoes, saying that, if she wanted to wrestle, then she was going to look like a wrestler.

She made her way down to the basement, finding Mark in the ring set up to one side.

"Hey, you get leather pants and I have to wear this." She motioned down at herself.

He grinned down at her. "I'm the Undertaker," he said as way of explanation, helping her into the ring, "and now you're in my yard."

She motioned him toward her. "Alright. Come get some, American _wise_ ass."

He looked shocked for a moment, then grinned and began circling the ring.

They locked up, both trying to get the upper hand on the other. He gave a hard shove, sending her back a few steps.

She sent him a mock glare, eyeing him for possible openings. He looked smug and she took her chance, getting him in an arm-wringer wrist lock.

He caught her by surprise, going down to the mat and flipping himself over, quickly twisting her arm up in a hammer lock.

"You're good, little girl, but not that good," he growled, ruffling the wisps of hair over her ear.

Talia pulled a reversal, wrapping her arms around his neck for a sleeper hold.

"Brat," he whispered as she held on, piggyback, cocking his head a little more to restrict the blood flow to the brain.

He hit his knees and she tightened her hold. He slumped then used a burst of energy to flip her over his head, knocking the wind out of her as her back hit the mat.

"No fair, you're bigger than me."

"So are half the men in wrestling," he said, pulling her up. "You wanna wrestle in the men's division, or not?"

She nodded, then rushed at him with spear, sending him into the turnbuckle. "Better," he said, a little winded.

She straightened, going for a snap-suplex when he wrapped the long fingers of his right hand around her throat.

He lifted her off the ground, slamming her to the mat and straddling her stomach.

"What's goin' on here?"

She turned her head toward the voice, trying to get the breath back that he'd knocked out of her. "Hey, Glenn."

He gave a nod in her direction, then looked up at Mark. "I knocked," he said, holding up the spare key that he'd taken from the flower pot by the front steps.

Mark removed himself from her waist, getting out of the ring to talk to Glenn.

Talia sat up, rolling out of the ring to grab a water bottle.

"I just stopped by to check on our new talent."

Her head shot in their direction. "Not now, Glenn."

Glenn stepped closer, but Mark put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "Don't push her. If she says she's not ready, then she isn't."

The younger man nodded. "You'll never learn to trust me, will you?" he tossed at Talia.

She took a sip of water, then pursed her lips. "I don't trust anyone," she said, regretting her words a little when a flash of hurt crossed over Mark's eyes.

Trust was earned and Mark was well on his way. So far.

"Forty-five… forty-six… forty-seven…" Mark couldn't help but grimace when she did as she pulled her body up on the chin-up bar. "Forty-eight… forty-nine… fifty."

She let herself drop to the ground, stretching her arms.

He was impressed with this girl. She worked harder than he'd ever thought to when he'd started wrestling.

When he'd met her dad, who worked as a personal body guard for Vince McMahon, she was young, painfully shy, and at times, bi-polar. She had been a cute kid, not thin but adorable.

The difference between Talia Delaney now and then was like night and day.

He took her in six moths ago after her parents kicked her out. She was homeless, penniless, in the middle the Kentucky woods, and he'd brought her home after having a few choice words with her so-called parents.

After he got her settled in, he found that she'd been training to go to Ohio Valley Wrestling, in the hopes of getting into WWE.

She snatched his water from him, grinning cheekily before taking a drink.

"Hey," he protested playfully, "get your own."

She took another drink. "Take your own advice," she said with a smirk. "I got mine." She held up the bottle before heading upstairs to shower.

Mark stayed behind to put up the free weights and turn off all the lights before going upstairs to his room and taking a shower himself.

He tugged on jeans, zipping but not bothering to button them, and went back downstairs, his hair dripping. He went into the den, flinging open the doors on the entertainment center and sorting through the VHS tapes there.

He pulled out one labeled "RAW 1998" and slipped it in the VCR to rewind, then went into the kitchen. He made some popcorn and poured it in a big bowl.

"Talia! You done up there?!"

She would come limping down the stairs in a minute and he'd have to help her loosen up some muscle or relieve a cramp.

"Chill, big boy!" she shouted from the vicinity of the top of the stairs.

Grinning, he took the bowl in the den and set it on the coffee table. She had the uncanny ability to make him laugh, even in the face of a nasty divorce.


	3. Chapter 3

"Mark," she whined, only half kidding, he could tell, as she rolled her shoulders and winced.

He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and steered her to the couch.

She held up a bottle of something medicinal, to relieve muscle aches. "Put this on it."

He picked up the bottle of green, mint smelling liquid and inspected it. With a lifted brow to rival The Rock, he chucked it over his shoulder, then went into the downstairs bathroom and got a bottle of hand lotion.

He came up behind the couch and popped the top on the bottle. "What hurts?"

"Neck, shoulders, chest." She tilted her head to one side, then the other, trying to work the tightness out.

He moved her long, wavy chestnut locks out of his way, draping them over one shoulder. He tugged at the neckline of her shirt and she unbuttoned the top two buttons, sliding it down over her shoulders, her hands clutching it together over her breasts.

He warmed some lotion in his hands then laid them over her soft flesh. He massaged the tense tendons in her neck, her breath catching when he hit a knot that was particularly stubborn.

He'd never seen quite so much of her. Her skin felt good against his hands and he left his fingers spread out, rubbing a little lower until he could feel the top of the shirt that kept her modest.

He realized, with a shock, that this was getting a little personal, and he was hard-pressed to stop it

The slightly tanned flesh of her shoulders gave away her American Indian blood, and it felt like velvet beneath his fingers.

Her head had lolled back against the couch and he could see her lashes fanned out over her cheeks.

She looked like an Amazon priestess being pleasured at the hands of a slave.

She let out a little moan. "_Ooh,_ that's good…"

The breathy tone of her voice sent a jolt straight to his cock and Mark swallowed over the dryness in his throat. He finished quickly, lifting the silk curtain of her hair to drape over her shoulders.

Clearing his throat, he sat on the couch, at the distant end, and snatched up the remote.

He could see her buttoning her shirt out of the corner of his eye and he forced himself to concentrate on the television.

The tension eased as they got into the show.

"See that," she said, pointing to Steve Austin, landing what appeared to be hard kicks to the chest of Kane. "I'm surprised Glenn didn't laugh at him." She smiled at him infectiously and he found himself smiling back. "That is one move he can't sell."

Mark snorted. "It ain't the only one. Have you seen him punch?"

Talia giggled like a little girl. "Yeah. I forgot about that one." She grabbed the remote, rewinding the match a little.

The screen flashed to him, standing outside the cage as his "brother" was getting pummeled by Austin.

"You look so worried," she said quietly. "What were you thinking?"

The look on his face intrigued her. He looked almost… in tears.

He leaned back and sighed. "Trouble in paradise," he said referring to his failed home-life.

She nodded, not wanting to pry.

"I hadn't seen my boys in a while, either." He changed the subject and she was relieved. "We can watch something else, if ya want."

She nibbled the buttery popcorn in the bowl she'd set on the couch between them. "You got any WCW in that extensive library of yours?"

He nodded and she got up, shuffling through the tapes. "Cool! Souled Out '98." She ejected the previous tape and slipped that one in.

She sat back down beside him, holding the bowl in her lap. She held up the popcorn, offering him some.

He refused, not looking at her.

He'd been doing that since he sat down.

"What's wrong?" she inquired, watching him intently for a minute.

He shook his head, dismissing the question and she left it alone, getting into the show. She concentrated on the match between Chris Jericho and Rey Mysterio Jr.

She loved to watch Jericho. He could really wrestle and it was obvious he loved to entertain.

She watched the match a little longer, glancing over to find Mark asleep, his head propped against the back of the couch.

He looked innocent, relaxed in his sleep. A lock of his overgrown, dark hair fell over one eye and his broad, defined chest lifted and fell with each breath.

He truly was breathtaking. And if things were different, if she were different, she might have tried her luck.

She tugged the blanket from the back of the couch and, flipping the TV off, she laid her head on his thigh and fell asleep.

Talia awoke late in the morning with a heavy weight laying over her hip. She lifted her head groggily, muscles in her neck and back protesting the movement, blinking at the large, tattooed arm draped over her.

Mark had shifted in the night and now her entire upper body was draped over his lap and her face had been nestled in his lower stomach.

He'd propped his feet up on the coffee table and the hand closest to the end of the couch was tangled in her hair. The other was resting comfortably on her hip.

She lifted his arm, setting it gently in his lap as she got up.

His knees were going to kill him when he finally woke up.

"Mark," she whispered.

He muttered in his sleep.

"Mark," she tried again.

His eyes moved quickly back and forth beneath his eyelids. "Havin' a good dream," he murmured.

She smiled. "About what," she questioned softly, trying to keep him awake.

"Talia," he whispered before sighing deeply and drifting off once more.


	4. Chapter 4

_She was dressed in black jeans and a tightly ribbed bustier that left her shoulders bare. Her hands were encased in a pair of fingerless gloves and, at the moment, those busy little fingers were stroking low over his belly. _

_He could feel his hard-on throb with every movement downward. _

_Something in his sleep-befuddled mind suggested that this was somehow bad, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge it. _

_His knees were throbbing, as well, almost overpowering the pleasure of her touch, but he couldn't figure out why. _

_Just as her hand brushed over the fly of his jeans, she looked up at him. "Wake up, big boy." _

_He loved it when she called him that, but why was she telling him to wake up? _

_Damn. _

He lifted his eyelids, groaning with frustration and the pain in his knees.

Talia was leaning over him, concern in her slate eyes.

He lifted his feet from the coffee table, bending his knees with extreme difficulty. Standing was easier than he thought it would be. He just had get to his room and take a hot bath.

He limped toward the stairs.

"Are you going to be okay?"

He gave her a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I just gotta loosen up."

She smiled back, giving him a little hug. "I'll make some breakfast."

He released her, going up to the bathroom that connected to his room. He ran water in the big bathtub, sinking into the warmth, his joints thanking him already.

He couldn't even begin to sort out the paradox that was Talia. Why on earth did his body have to do this to him now?

He was due back at work in two weeks. He could've dealt with it then, when he didn't have to be around her, feel her skin, smell the floral scent that always followed her.

He shouldn't be thinking this way about someone who was literally half his age. Someone who could hurt him just like the women before her.

With a sigh, he dropped his head back against the rim of the tub.

He just needed to act like everything was normal, to pretend he wasn't completely aware of the young girl that was moving around in his kitchen.

He dragged himself out of the tub, pulling on jeans and a black t-shirt and boots, and padded down to the kitchen, his mood improved from when he woke up.

Talia was hovering over the stove and he came up behind her, peering over her shoulder.

"Mmm, steak and eggs."

She nodded. "That okay?"

"Perfect. We got a late start today. What are we doing?" Mark poured two glasses of milk to go with their breakfast.

"We'll keep the same schedule. I'll just be in the gym later tonight." She sighed. "Won't be the first time I put in overtime to make up for slacking."

"You never let up on yourself, do you?"

She shook her head. "I didn't make it this far by saying, 'Oh, I'll do it tomorrow.' Besides, I don't do anything on my days off but study wrestling moves, so why take any off to begin with." She set his plate down in front of him.

"Take today off."

She looked up at him from the plate of food she was picking at more than eating. "Why?"

"We're going out."

She shook her head. "Mark…"

"It's just today. We wrestle five or six days a week when I'm on the road, but we always take at least one day a week."

Her shoulders slumped, as if defeated. "Okay."

"And you can't feel guilty about it," he said, knowing she was already thinking up ways to make up for it tomorrow.

After they'd finished eating and loaded the dishwasher, Talia turned to go upstairs, but stopped. "Mark."

He turned to her. "Hmm?"

A smile hovered at the corners of her mouth, as if she was trying not to grin. Her stormy eyes met his. "Uhh, by the way…" She bit her lip, looking unsure of herself, a quality that made her look cute as hell.

"What is it?"

A grin passed over her full mouth, then her features turned placid. "You talk in your sleep."

Mark paled.

It was difficult to describe to herself what a six-feet-ten-inches tall biker looked like squirming, but he was definitely doing so.

"I do?"

Talia had to swallow a grin. "Yeah." She bit her lip hard. "What were you dreaming about?"

His eyes narrowed suddenly and she could tell he was on the defensive. "Nothing important."

She'd sworn he whispered her name in his sleepy ramblings, but the fact was quickly shook off when she'd noticed the fullness in the front of his jeans.

No way in hell he was dreaming about her, not with that as proof. She was plain, her weight-lifting and tall stature the only thing that made her noticeable, and there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that Mark Calaway was dreaming about her.

She wasn't going to kid herself.

She let him off the hook, for now, ad went upstairs to shower and dress.

When she came back down, Mark was in the garage, sitting on his bike, fiddling with the controls.

"I'm ready," she said, getting him to look up.

He gave her an intent once over that had her shuffling from foot to foot and a blush coming to her cheeks, then he looked back down at the bike. "Go get in the truck."

Damn, he was in a mood. Must not like the outfit.

She'd put on a black bustier and black jeans, boots and fingerless gloves, leaving her hair down and slinging her leather jacket over her shoulder.

He probably wanted her to cover some skin, though she was barely showing any. Mark was always very protective after he'd taken her from her parents' house.

She'd thought he was going to rip Ryan a new ass when they'd started dating.

The thought of her boyfriend, no EX-boyfriend, make her feel bad, and she had to make herself relax and smile as she slipped into the cab of his Ford.


	5. Chapter 5

"I like these," he said pointing to a pair of black patent leather flap style wrestling boots.

Mark had decided that the wrestling sneakers she had didn't go with the rest of her ring attire. Thus, they stood in a sporting goods shop in the middle of Houston.

"I hate the whole get-up," Talia said, wanting nothing more than to go home and hit the gym.

Mark just grinned.

He'd managed to have a major mood swing from that morning, instead teasing her mercilessly until she was ready to either tear her hair out or his. She was leaning more toward his silky locks.

"While we're here, let's get something different, then."

She breathed a sigh of relief.

He went to a rack of singlets.

Talia put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Absolutely not. If I have to wear it, then you're going to wear one, too." Damn things always rode up her ass.

On that note, he stepped aside.

She grabbed a pair of faux suede ring shorts with fringes running down the side seam, a matching halter style sports top with fringes running along the low cut bust.

She picked up a pair of brown boots, with fringes layered from the tops to the ankles that would drape to the floor. Matching knee and elbow pads topped it off.

They paid for the purchase and left the store, finding their way to a tattoo and piercing shop.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

She nodded. Her parents would've skinned her alive, but she finally felt like she could make her own decisions.

It was thanks to Mark. When she first came to Texas, she felt she needed his approval to do anything, but he quickly let her know that it was more important what she thought about her own life.

The woman, dressed in a pair of bellbottoms and a beaded top, seated her beside the tray of instruments, and when she was finished, Talia was admiring a silver nose ring through her left nostril, in the style of her Shawnee heritage.

When she stood to leave, she looked at Mark. "What do you think?"

"It looks good."

-

That wasn't a complete lie. It did look good, sexy as hell in fact. There was something symbolic about that glinting piece of silver running through her smooth flesh.

He really needed to get a handle on his hormones. Maybe it was old age.

_Nah. _

"Now where to?" Talia inquired as they slipped into the cab of his truck.

"Home. I'm gonna cook somethin' good." He flashed her a grin and drove them to his house.

Talia headed for the stairs, informing Mark that she was going to try on her ring clothes.

"Okay, but don't even think about getting in the ring. You're supposed to relax today."

She rolled her eyes, making him grin at her sassiness.

After he sent her upstairs, he went into the kitchen and started dinner. He was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of sauce, when she came in. For the first time in months, she actually looked unsure of herself.

One hip was cocked, a knee bent, and she looked ready to bolt for the door or look for cover.

"How does it look?" she asked, chewing her lip.

She looked like a Shawnee-Cherokee half breed princess, and utterly beautiful.

Her long, wavy, brown-black hair was hanging in waves over shoulders, a few strands tumbling over breasts when she shifted. The clingy material of her top was stretched over the fullness of her breasts, leaving her toned belly and arms bare. The bottoms were like a second skin, stopping at the tops of her thighs. Her legs were tanned and smooth and long, so long.

It took him a moment to realized he hadn't answered her. "Damn," was all he could muster while trying to shake off the feeling of a deer in headlights.

"You don't like it. We can switch it when we go back into town." She started to turn away.

He had to mentally shove himself. "No, it looks fine." He blinked hard to clear his head. "I just didn't realize how grown up you were until now."

She smiled and he had to stop himself from falling into her beauty again.

"Go change, dinner's almost ready." Realizing how dismissive that sounded, he softened his expression and gave her a smile.

He had to be careful not to treat her like her parents did. He was getting moody, trying to fight the attraction he felt for her, but he didn't want her to think he was pushing her away.

The two of them always had an odd, unbreakable closeness. She ran to him when she was feeling bad, had come to him when that jackass left her, and he didn't want that to change.

He knew more about that little girl than her own family did. And he'd never break the fragile trust they'd established.

Mark set her plate on the table as she came into the kitchen.

"How is it you know how to cook?"

On corner of his mouth tipped up. "I'm divorced," he said as an explanation.

After dinner, he followed her into the den and she slipped a horror film into the VCR.

She curled up against his side and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders as Jeepers Creepers 2 played.

Mark groaned when he saw the title. "Again?"

She grinned up at him. "Yep."

He had the sudden, strong urge to lean down and place a kiss on the tip of her cute little upturned nose. Then her cupid's bow mouth caught his attention and his gut clenched.

Stop!

He forced his gaze back to the TV.

He had to get a handle on this, or he was going to end up hurting her. He'd cut his own guts out before he'd purposely hurt her.

He already felt the knife twisting every time he looked at her.


	6. Chapter 6

Talia clutched her thigh as a burning pain arced through it.

"Talia? What's wrong?" Mark had gone upstairs to get water and was coming over from the stairs.

She ground her teeth. "It hurts." She limped over to a chair, trying to massage it.

Mark stooped down in front of her. "Talk to me."

She gasped as it throbbed. "I was doing free squats and… ah! I felt it pull." Just shifting in her seat caused it to hurt terribly.

"You think you tore it?"

She shook her head vigorously. "It used to pull all the time." Thanks to her mom and dad.

Mark stood and went over to the cabinet on the far wall. He handed her two wide Ace bandages before lifting her in his arms.

She cried out when his hand pressed upward on the back of her thigh.

The pain was blinding! She tried gritting her teeth as he carried her up the stairs, but couldn't stop the tears as he sat her on the couch.

He tugged the sweats down her legs, leaving her in workout shorts and a hooded sweatshirt. Straightening her leg and draping it over his lap where he sat on his knees in front of the couch.

"Just a minute, sweetheart. I'll make it feel better." His voice was soothing as he wrapped the bandage tightly around her aching thigh. He used both of them, then put a pillow against the arm of the couch and laid two at the other end.

He laid her back on the couch and propped the two pillows under her knee.

She was still in tears, hastily swiping them away when she saw Mark looking at her. "I'm such a baby. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." He was quiet for a minute, then, "Why did you always strain muscles, sweetheart?"

She bit her lip and looked away. "My mom and dad wouldn't let me eat right, so I didn't get enough protein and vitamins."

"That's what I thought." He leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. "I'll be right back." He stood, coming back a moment later with an ice pack. She winced when he laid it on her thigh.

She sat up after a minute, trying to struggle out of the sweatshirt.

He helped her sit. "Lift your arms." She did as she was told and he slipped the hoodie over her head. Laying back with a sigh, she got comfortable.

Mark studied her for a minute. "Will you be okay if I head back down to the gym?"

She nodded. "Just hand me the remote."

He smiled, giving her the little black remote. "Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine."

He turned to leave.

"Mark?"

Facing her, he lifted his brows a little. "Hmm?"

"Thank you."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "You're welcome, little girl."

Talia sat for nearly an hour before she started to squirm. She couldn't sit still for more than a few minutes and this was stretching it.

She knew Mark would be downstairs for at least another hour and she was getting really bored.

Biting her lip, she eased her leg to the floor, using her other leg and her arms to lever herself off the couch.

This routine was nothing new. She'd torn her quadricep more times than she could count and her parents wouldn't get her a glass of water, let alone something really important, so she'd learned to survive and grit her teeth against the pain.

She limped to the kitchen, making a sandwich and getting a glass of milk. She mixed some protein into her milk and carried them to the table. She sat in a chair and propped her leg on the one across from her.

After she'd finished her lunch, she racked her brain for something to take away her boredom. She had no chance of getting up the stairs to her room.

But she was going to try.

The first few steps were not so bad, but then her leg started to throb. She'd made it almost to the top, hissing in pain with every step, when her toe caught on the next step up and she jarred her injury.

She yelped in pain, letting out a loud, angry curse before she could stop herself. She hated being weak, depending on someone else. She'd learned long ago that people used a weakness against you.

"What the hell are ya doin'?!"

She jumped, nearly toppling down the stairs.

Mark was just below her on the step, catching her easily. "You should be downstairs."

"I got bored."

He made a disgusted sound. "Come here." He lifted her.

"I don't wanna go back downstairs," she pouted.

He moved up the steps. "Relax. Where are we going?"

"I wanna take a shower."

"Okay. I'll take you to the bathroom. Can you handle yourself while I take a shower in my room?"

"Yes, but I need to get clothes first."

He carried her easily into her room and sat her on the bed. "What do you want?" He went to her dresser.

She had no interest in letting him get her bra and panties, so she stood and hobbled to the dresser, pushing him out of the way. "I got it." Grabbing her undergarments first, she balled them up very tightly, then grabbed workout pants and a zippered hoodie. "Done." She was lifted and carried into the bathroom, taking time to glare impossibly at him. "Stop doing that!"

He frowned, then shrugged, leaving the bathroom, shaking his head.

"Men," she muttered, sitting on the edge of the tub to unwrap her leg. She showered, her leg throbbing with the loss of compression the bandages offered.

She limped into Mark's room, bandages in hand, waiting for him to emerge from the bathroom.

He came out in a towel stopping when he saw her. "Sorry," he said, grabbing clothes out of his closet.

"It's my fault. I should've told you I was in here." She absolutely had to drag her eyes away from him. It was wrong for her to stare at the exposed flesh of his firm chest and stomach. It took all her willpower to keep her eyes from perusing it all, taking him in as he was.

He disappeared back into the bathroom and she had to stop from fanning herself as the room temperature shot up a few degrees.

She was suddenly embarrassed and stood, heading for the door. He caught her arm as he came out of the bathroom.

He was wearing black jeans and socks when he turned her to face him. "I didn't mean to embarrass ya, little girl." He smiled, making his eyes twinkle. "You need me to wrap your leg?"

She nodded, averting her eyes.

What had possessed her to come into his bedroom? It was his private space and she stepped into it unasked. She'd be sure not to make that mistake again.


	7. Chapter 7

It was eight A.M. and Talia was sure Mark was still in bed and she hoped he would be for a few hours. Just in case, she eased herself onto the weight machine.

Her leg had ached unbelievably that morning but she'd coaxed it into a working condition with a hot bath and some medicinal help, before limping down two flights of stairs and making a beeline for the lat machine.

She needed to keep up with her training or the four or five days of healing her thigh would be a major setback.

She laid back on the machine, starting with a light bench press to warm up, then gradually increasing her weight and lowering her reps. She didn't want to do her maximum weight without a spotter and she definitely wouldn't ask Mark. He'd order her straight upstairs to the couch.

"Talia!" He said her name forcefully, as if catching her in the act and she sat up so quickly, she nearly knocked herself silly on the bar.

"Geez, big guy, you scared me." She tried not to look guilty. She figured this conversation wasn't going to end in her favor.

He had a cup of coffee in his hand, steam curling over the top of the white porcelain mug. "You don't give up, do you."

She looked up at him. "I can't." Or they would win.

He just frowned and pulled up a folding chair, sighing heavily. "What am I gonna do with you?"

She flashed him a million-dollar grin. "Love me, cause I'm so cute!" Her voice had taken on a child-like quality she knew would make him laugh, and she joined in when it had the desired effect.

He shook his head at her. "I don't know about cute. More like vicious."

She chuckled, nodding her agreement. "How did you know I was up?"

"Well, it could've been the loud crash against the hallway wall at six o'clock, or the whispered cussing down the staircase that was, by the way, quite colorful, or the creaking of the floor, all of which you were trying to hide."

She smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I was trying to be quiet."

He smirked. "I know." He paused then his grin grew a little. "I was already up. And you, Talia Delaney, are about as subtle as a tornado."

She just shrugged. "I'm as big as an ogre, may as well do everything else like one."

He actually rolled his eyes, something she had never seen him do besides the usually Deadman tricks. He stood suddenly, lifting her from the padded seat of the weight machine and draped her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, mindful of her injury.

She sighed against his back. "Where are you taking me?"

"Breakfast."

She relaxed, enjoying the ride, secretly relieved that she wasn't going to have to climb those stairs.

Cradling her back with his palms, he sat her gently in a chair, his eyes catching her gaze and holding it captive.

He just looked at her, his expression soft, for a breathless few seconds before abruptly turning away and clearing his throat.

Wow, Talia thought, trying to catch her breath. _Whatever that was, it was intense._

-

_Alright, Calaway, get a grip. _

Mark quickly stuck his nose in the fridge, hoping the cold blast would clear his head.

She had no idea how close she'd come to being thoroughly kissed, long and hard, on that tempting mouth.

His self control wasn't neverending and he was working against himself. He wanted what his conscience told him he couldn't have, and he wasn't one to take no for an answer.

Quickly, he pulled the juice and milk out of the fridge, setting them on the table, then going back to the counter to make French toast with cheese, gravy and sausages.

When he finally sat down to eat, he'd managed to get himself under control and they shared conversation over their plates.

"You think you're going back downstairs like that?"

"Yep." A little smile was tickling the edges of her lips, but he knew she was serious.

He looked at her pointedly. "It won't heal like that, Talia."

"It won't stop me from working the rest of my body."

They finished their food in silence and Talia limped toward the basement door. Mark cut her off, making her put her hands on her hips in exasperation.

"You're forbidden from the gym until your leg heals, little girl."

"Mark!"

"You'll thank me later in your career. And no more up and down the stairs, or I swear, I'll tie you to a chair." He lifted her easily in his arms, enjoying the feel of her more than he should have.

"Mark Luke Calaway, put me down, or you're gonna get it!"

He just chuckled, carrying her to the plush couch in the den. He sat her down, pointing his finger at her. "Stay put."

As soon as he moved toward the door, intent on going and locking the basement door, she stood.

He shook his head. He should've known. He and that girl were identical in action and that's what he would've done.

"Talia," he warned.

She ignored him.

He went to her, returning her to the couch.

She crossed her arms, turning her face away from him with a frown.

He swiftly moved through the house, locking the door, then rejoining her in the den.

She was seated just as he left her and a stab of guilt passed through him. He hated it when she was mad at him.

With a heavy sigh, he sat beside her. "Why are you fighting me, Talia?"

"You're treating me like a child," she said quietly, still not looking at him.

"You're being unreasonable," he countered, maintaining his temper, letting her explain herself before he blew up.

She looked at him. "How am I being unreasonable?"

"If you don't let that injury heal, it will get worse until it tears. Then you'll have to have surgery. Rehabbing a surgically repaired quadricep femorus muscle is six months to a year." He saw the resignation in her eyes and knew he'd won. "A few days of rest is better than a year, don't you think?"

"I hate sitting here. I feel useless."

He wrapped an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "I plan to relax for the rest of my vacation, so we'll sit here and be useless together."

"I suppose." She smiled up at him and he knew he was forgiven.


	8. Chapter 8

A.N. Just a li'l shameless promotion folks. I put up a new fan fiction board. The link is in my profile for those interested. It hosts mostly wrestling, but also a few others.

Also... The language in this chapter is Cherokee. Most of it is pretty easy to understand if you follow the context clues. END A.N.

Chapter 8

Talia snuggled against the warmth that was pressed against her side.

"Come on, little girl," he coaxed, his voice a deep rumble against her ear.

"Hmm mmm. Don' wanna," she murmured, burying her face in the warmth, encountering a scratchiness against her cheek. "I'm comfer'ble." She sighed, willing herself back to sleep.

An amused chuckle sounded. "You win."

"Mmm hmm," she acknowledged, too sleepy to be aware she was no longer sitting on the couch. She wrapped her arms around her carrier and relaxed.

This was better than sleeping on a cloud.

A hand was rubbing her back soothingly and she felt weightless. Something soft brushed against her hand and she frowned as the bed took her weight.

The mattress dipped and shifted as she refused to relinquish her hold on the warm presence that tended to her.

"Talia, let go of me, please," he said, laughing.

She shifted closer to his heat. "Hmm mmm. Warm."

He sighed, prying her fingers loose from where they were linked together behind his head. "'Night, sweetheart."

She grabbed him before he could leave and pulled his head down to hers, holding his face in her hands and planting a soft kiss on his mouth. "G'nigh'." Letting him go, she flopped back against the mattress and welcomed sleep.

The harsh Texas sun was beaming through the open window blinds and she cursed it loudly when she awoke late the next morning.

Her thigh felt better, just a little sore compared to the previous days pain, and she limped to a shower then downstairs.

Voices could be heard coming from the kitchen and she gasped in surprise when she walked in.

"Kevin!" She ignored the pain in her leg and moved quickly to him, wrapping her arms around him.

"Well, damn, girl. I'm glad to see you, too." He gave her a fond squeeze, then returned to his chair.

"Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?" someone groused from behind her.

"Scott, you're not chopped liver," she said, hugging him as well. "Lunchmeat, maybe." She flashed him a winning smile.

He looked across the kitchen at Mark. "How do you deal with this little hellion?"

Mark had one hip propped against the counter with his big tattooed arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were glittering brightly with something she couldn't place and he wore a scowl. The man managed to look delectable despite himself.

He grumbled something in return before staring into his coffee mug.

"So what are you guys doing here?" she asked the former Outsiders.

Kevin spoke first. "We've been doing a little sightseeing and shopping around."

Talia put her hands on her hips and lifted a brow. "Frickin' liar."

Scott laughed. "Actually we've been talking to McMahon about getting back into the game."

"Really? You think he'll bite?"

"We hope so. Both of us have already talked to the top dogs at NWA:TNA and hopefully that'll help ole Vinnie Mac with his decision." Kevin shrugged. "Either way, we want to put the Outsiders back together."

"Awesome! Now I'll get to watch you guys live again."

The four of them sat around the table, talking over lunch, attempting to catch up on the last five months. After, she showed the two men to the door, hugging each of them.

Mark was behind her, waving them off and he spun her around after she shut the door. "Do you know someone named Naomi Daniels?"

Talia looked up at him like he'd grown another head. "It's my grandmother, but how did…"

"She called while you were asleep. Gave me a message to have you call her."

"Can I-"

"It's as much your house, as it is mine. Go on." He smiled down at her, but it looked a bit sad and Talia promised herself she would ask him about it as soon as she made the call.

She grabbed the cordless and sat on the couch, dialing the number she knew by heart.

The line was picked up on the first ring. "Hello?" came the deeply accented voice.

"_U-li-si_, it's Talia."

The elderly woman made a sound of joy. "I was so worried, _u-s-di_. Where are you? Are you all right? Who was that man that answered? He's not hurting you, is he?"

Talia laughed. "Slow down, _u-li-si_. Slow. _U-s-ka-no-la_. I'm fine. Mark would never hurt me."

She looked up to see Mark in the doorway and smiled at him. He still looked a little strange and Talia was beginning to get nervous.

"Are you listening, _a-ge-yu-tsa_?"

Talia turned her attention back to the woman on the phone. "What?"

"That man is there, isn't he."

"He's standing in the doorway, _u-li-si_, so behave."

-

Mark watched Talia as she spoke on the phone.

He hadn't been able to sleep all night and his mood hadn't improved with the dawn. All he could think about, feel, taste on his lips was Talia's kiss.

The soft, fluttery touch felt like heaven and it had almost crumbled what little bit of control he'd managed to hold onto over the last few days.

He was already weary of fighting what he felt. He was going to let things come as they may. He would make sure Talia wasn't hurt. He'd find a way.

Sighing, he headed for the garage and a little heavy metal relaxation.

His bike was in need of having the carburetor cleaned and a new set of spark plugs installed, and there was never a better time than now.

He grabbed a stool out of the corner of the not-so-neat garage and sat down beside the big Harley.

Wrench in hand, he removed the spark plugs and moved to the workbench in the back to grab the new set he'd bought.

"Mark, are you okay?"

He looked over his shoulder, taking the plugs back to his bike. "How was your call?" he asked, deliberately avoiding her question.

"Fine," she said, smiling affectionately at the mention of her grandmother. "My parents fed her some story." She frowned. "My dad goes to the reservation twice a year maybe, and he can do anything better for her than make her sick with worry."

Mark kept his mouth shut. He had a few choice words for her dad, but they weren't for her innocent ears.

She stooped down beside him on the concrete floor. "Watcha doin'?"

"It needed a tune up," he said simply.

"Are you mad at me?"

Mark hung his head, chuckling at his own misery. He sat like that for a moment before pinning her with a look. "No."

Concern lit her storm colored eyes as she studied his face. "What's wrong, then?"

He dragged a hand over his face, groaning in frustration. "You really wanna know?" He wondered how she'd react if she knew the complete truth.

She scooted closer, laying her hand on his arm. "Yes."

He looked over at her for a moment, then pressed his lips to hers, watching her intently for any signs of rejection.

There was a moment of stunned surprise, then her eyes slid shut and she laid her hand along the side of his face.

He stopped thinking as her soft lips parted in a silent plea for him to deepen his ministrations. He obliged her, slipping his tongue inside the moist cove, tasting, exploring, deflowering her, claming what was his.

He tore his mouth from hers with a harsh groan. "Talia, I'm sorry."


	9. Chapter 9

"Don't apologize," she said, placing her index finger over his lips. "I-I'm not offended." She shook her head to concrete her answer. "I think you need your head examined, though."

He looked at her with an odd expression. "Because…"

She closed her eyes, fighting off old memories. "Why would you want to kiss someone like me?"

"Don't," he growled, making her head jerk up. "Don't compare me to him." A hand cupped her cheek, and his thumb stroked her bottom lip. "I kissed you because you're an available, attractive woman, and I wanted to."

For the first time in her life, she took what he said at face value. "It's so hard to trust someone," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

"I know, believe me. Or did you forget I walked in on my wife with her-"

She took his hand. "I didn't forget. I'd like to pound her for it."

He promptly burst into laughter. "Come here, my little bodyguard," he said, pulling her into his lap.

"Why do you keep calling me little? I'm six-foot-three."

He kissed the top of her head. "You're a lot smaller than me." He was quiet for a minute, then added, "You've got a few hang-ups about being tall, don't ya."

Chewing her lip, she nodded. "My dad used to call me his son." She smiled sadly to herself. "I guess I was a tomboy." She shrugged. "I don't know how to be a girl."

"That's bullshit. I don't go for all that lace and frills. I think your leather is sexy."

She looked up at him, startled. "Now, _that's_ bullshit."

His eyes widened at her use of the word then he gave her a wicked grin. "I don't know if I wanna kiss that mouth, considering the filth coming out of it."

She tried to look innocent. "So, if I promise not to do it again, your going to shut up and kiss me?"

His mouth moved closer. "Maybe."

Talia's lips parted with anticipation. "I'll never do it again," she whispered. Her eyes slid shut, her mouth brushing against his beseechingly.

With a low, devilish chuckle that nearly curled her poker-straight hair, he slanted his mouth over hers, her lips flowering open immediately for his tongue.

The kiss was hot, languid, and Talia arched against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her fingers in the warm, dark tresses that laid against his nape. They separated for air, Talia's forehead against his as they shared breath.

"Damn, that's good," he said, running the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

He smiled suddenly, and Talia straightened, sending him a suspicious look. "What?"

He grinned. "You have this little smudge of oil on your cheek and it makes you look cute as hell."

Blushing, she buried her face in his shoulder.

"You've never been called cute before, baby?" His laugh was amused and smug.

She shook her head, slapping his arm lightly.

He hugged her tight and she enjoyed the moment. "It feels good to be with you like this."

She buried her nose in his neck, placing a kiss there. "Mmm hmm. I've always felt close to you, but I think this was missing."

He nodded. "Let's go inside. I'll deal with this mess later."

He stood her on her feet and a feeling of loss washed over her as soon as they stopped touching. He took her hand in his larger one, escorting her inside to the kitchen.

He went to the sink and washed his hands. "I wanna go out for a while. Maybe find someplace to eat out."

She kissed him on one stubbly cheek, heading upstairs to change.

She took care of the splotch on her cheek and slipped into a pair of jeans, tossing her track pants into the hamper. A black Undertaker t-shirt, boots, and her leather jacket topped it off along with some lip-gloss and black eyeliner. She grabbed her gloves as an afterthought.

Mark was waiting in the truck and he looked her over several times before meeting her eyes. "Damn, little girl."

She looked at him expectantly. "What?"

"I've never seen one of my t-shirts filled out like that."

She rolled her eyes and got in the truck. "You're hopeless."

They found a restaurant in town and shared dinner, chatting about nothing in general. Talia was surprised to find herself completely comfortable with him, despite what they'd shared. Usually, she would've felt an underlying pressure to move things beyond a kiss, but Mark could only be described as… calm.

"I'll unlock the gym tomorrow. What time do you want to go in?" he asked as they walked through the front door at the end of the evening.

She smiled up at him. "Seven A.M., thank you."

"Nose to the grindstone, eh?"

Giving a nod, she headed for the den and her usual method of unwinding. "Come relax with me." She was getting used to him chilling in front of the TV with her, and she was going to miss it when he went back on the road.

He followed her in, taking her jacket and slinging it over the back of a chair, then began sorting through the DVD's in the big ebony cabinet that housed the entertainment center.

Talia lifted his left elbow, slipping under his arm so she could get a better look. "Ooo, that one!" She snatched the square case from him.

"Talia…" He sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "Gimme that. I've seen it twelve-hundred times."

She clutched the case to her chest like it was gold. "Please." She made her eyes big and stuck her lip out a little.

Another long sigh and his shoulders slumped. "Damn lip, gets me every time," he grumbled, taking the case and slipping the disc into the player.

Talia grinned.

He dropped onto the plush couch and pulled her against him. "I should bust yer ass, ya know," he said good-naturedly, his grassy-colored eyes twinkling.

Talia just laughed and kissed him on the cheek, looking at his handsome face with adoration. "You can try."


End file.
